Swing Life Away
by erisantic
Summary: Soulmates share scars. Harry and Dean have quite the collection between them. They know only what stories their skin tells. That is, until an angel accidentally joins the bond. Add a few more brits, a Bobby, a brother, and an unhealthy amount of pie, and you're ready to swing life away. Sam/Ginny, Dean/Cas/Harry, Ron/Hermione
1. Chapter 1: Life and Death

**A/N: I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Tell me what you think of it.**

* * *

 _"I'll show you mine if you show me yours first,_

 _Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse,_

 _Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words."_

— Swing Life Away, by Rise Against

* * *

Dean was two when he got his first mark. It took a minute for Mary to notice. He protested loudly when his mother took him into her arms, and away from his toys. Dean scrunched his face when she fussed over him. He brought a small hand up where she looked. A rigid patch of skin had appeared on his forehead. Nimble finger traced down the new scar. Dean pictured it as a symbol he'd seen on some of his superhero toys. He wondered if this meant he'd get special powers now. When his mother put him down to meet dad in the doorway, he forgot the thought.

"Daddy!" He squealed.

His dad gave him a smile and a wave eliciting a childish giggle. Dean watched as his mother started to talk frantically with his dad. He wondered why they glanced at him so much. It gave him an uneasy feeling. However, that melted away when his mom offered some mac and cheese for dinner. Adults were always so weird anyway.

The next day he squirmed while his mom talked to a doctor. The man had been prodding at him and Dean didn't like him one bit. He tugged at his mom's hand and she gave him a stern look. Dean looked around the pastel colored examination room while he waited, wishing he had brought his superheros with him.

The next time, his mom's the one to tug his hand as they left. Dean got a lollipop from the front desk lady, which makes the ordeal worth it. They got home and Dean rushed to greet the toys scattered across his room. He payed special attention to the superhero with the lightning bolt on his chest and traced his forehead every few minutes to make sure the mark is still there.

* * *

When Harry was eight he got the lesson in school. Most of the children around him zoned out; they'd all heard it before. He was the only one who sat straight, even leaning forward slightly, as the teacher talked.

"Any permanent markings to your body will appear on the body of your soulmate." Mrs. Jones said. "This includes scars, piercings, and even tattoos. Be careful and think twice before making changes to your body, as it will affect them as well."

A rush of bodies crowded the door when the dismissal bell rang. Harry stayed in his seat, rolling the lesson around in his mind. He left slowly, but stood taller than that morning. Maybe he wasn't alone after all.

That night, the small boy rested alone. He listened to the loud noises of his aunt, uncle, and cousin watching the telly. Enough light spilled from the vent on the door for him to see inside his cupboard. Harry examined his skinny limbs.

Every now and then, he would come across a line or mark, and stared at it. Sometimes he remembered where it came from; like with the scar on his leg he got while trying to escape his cousin. He labeled these remembered blemishes as _mine._

Still, there were some he couldn't remember after concentrating on them; like the thin silvery line on his left side. He labeled those marks he couldn't recall as _theirs_.

After Harry had settled under his old, moth eaten blanket, the lights flicked off in front of his door. The tell-tale thudding and bits of plaster flaking off his ceiling let him know his family had gone upstairs to bed. His last thoughts awake were wishful; he hoped with all his heart, that when he met his soulmate, _mine_ and _theirs_ would simply become _ours_.

* * *

Dean spread out on the ratty hotel couch next to his baby brother, who slaved over homework. As much as Dean teased the kid for being a nerd, it always cheered him up to see that Sam kept up with school. It meant that his little brother had more of a chance.

As he flipped through the channels on the tv, the older boy noticed something on his right arm. Dropping the remote in shock, he observed with captivated eyes. Sam looked up when his brother shifted position.

"Dean?" the younger boy questioned as he lean closer toward where Dean had fixed his wide eyes.

An angry red mark formed on Dean's forearm. The brothers shared a concerned and fascinated look.

"Do you think she's okay?" Dean asked. He felt the rise of fear for his soulmate as the mark grew redder. He wondered if she was older than his thirteen years to have gotten such an injury. Maybe she was a hunter too. That thought gave him worry, rather than reassurance.

"Look!" Sam pointed at the edges of the mimicked wound as they receded.

The two brothers sat in stunned silence as the red disappeared from Dean's skin. The older boy moved his arm around to see it in different light. It was as if the mark had never even appeared.

"Should we tell dad?" Dean spun to face Sammy when he asked.

He'd learned the hard way that solemate scars were not a welcome topic to discuss with their father. Dean used to brag to him every time he noticed a new mark until one day his dad had enough. John Winchester redirected him with a firm hand. Pulling up his shirt, his father displayed a scar drawn across his stomach.

"One day, Dean, they'll get a wound you can't heal." John said, he pointed to his son and continued. "You'll carry that mark for the rest of your life. No matter how many times you try to wash it off. That scar will stay and remind you every damn day that you failed to save them."

His father's last words on the subject replayed in his mind as he rubbed his arm.

"Every new scar is one closer to the last."

Needless to say, his father had gotten drunk that night. Dean didn't want Sammy to get the same harsh lesson. He shook his head with vigor, hoping the kid would avoid it.

* * *

Voldemort was back. Harry couldn't shake the thoughts from intruding, even after two weeks into summer. He attacked the weeds in his aunt's garden in a weak distraction attempt.

Was it too much for someone to _talk_ to him? His best friends wouldn't surrender any information. Everyday the Daily Prophet continued to print slander against him. Labeled a maniac for warning them, how kind. Life was utter shit, and he still had to live on Privet Drive with his hateful relatives.

Harry threw the bags of weeds into the bin and escaped to his room upstairs. He pounded a fist into the mattress of his bed. Feeling no better after the temper tantrum, he slumped in defeat. Eyes moved of their own accord, and he found himself staring at his arm. There, Fawkes had healed the gash from the Basilisk in second year.

He'd managed to get another one in the same spot.

The wound was still red. Madam Pomfrey shot several spells at it, after the initial healing, in vain. The witch said it would fade soon, but Harry saw her nervous fidgeting. The streak of marred flesh had haunted him since the night in the graveyard. Not only had it hurt like all hell, the cut Wormtail made had resurrected his worst enemy. Cedric's face came to mind. An innocent life taken, snuffed out, by someone who should be dead. Harry would never be able to forget. The angry, red reminder was a permanent fixture on his body...and someone else's.

Who the hell would want him for a soulmate? He had insane dark wizard after him, a public reputation that teeter-tottered between extremes, and gained a new scar every year. It wasn't like he added to the collection alone. Spots popped up from time to time without Harry's aid. Yet, he still gathered the noticeable, ugly ones. He was probably paired with some active quidditch player that fate wanted to piss on.

Harry buried his face in his pillow. His first words to the person who was supposed to complete his life were going to be "I'm sorry." How pathetic. He wasn't sure he'd forgive himself in that position. It would be just his luck to get rejected by his own soulmate.

* * *

Dean woke up with a spiking headache. He couldn't remember if he was hungover or not. Which meant he most likely was. Hey, how could he miss the opportunity to introduce himself to their new town? The party was a blur, but he guaranteed he'd gotten a few numbers from the local hotties.

Certainly, he deserved it after that last shitty girl experience. She somehow gathered the guts to call his personality fake. No, he was cool. He was really cool. Emma - Andy- Amanda? Whatever her name was, could suck it.

After fishing around in the bathroom he gulped down the Advil like it was gourmet steak. Not that he knew what that tasted like. The digital clock told him that he was late for school. Sammy, the angel, hadn't woken him up in time. Might as well not go then.

Lounging on the motel bed he'd claimed, Dean flipped through the newspaper looking for hints on the case. His dad wasn't sure what they were hunting, only that it was nasty. It was always nasty. Why couldn't they run into something cute and cuddly? Like a unicorn. Dean snorted at that idea. While flipping the page, the young hunter sprang up like a startled cat.

"Holy shit!"

There was writing on his hand. Not the typical digits or test answers either. Words were _engraved_ into the back of his right hand. In cramped cursive _"I must not tell lies"_ was carved, as neatly as if it had been written.

Skin didn't work like that, the hunter knew. The scar must have been created by some kind of supernatural mojo. Fucked up as it was, Dean felt some relief. This confirmed his ongoing theory that his soulmate was a hunter. Meaning, they would understand. Life was doomed for them, but they would understand each other.

* * *

It was a pleasent night to be strolling to your death. Just the right degree of cool in the air...

Who was he kidding, Harry thought, he was terrified. His instincts screamed warnings to turn back, but he'd made a decision.

The most prevailing feeling though, was loneliness. Even after speaking with the dead and getting their support, it was lonely. However much Harry didn't want anyone to be here, his chest still ached. All his thoughts surrounded what he would leave behind. The people he loved...they were the reason he underwent this after all.

Before his eyes closed, Harry thought about a stranger. The person he hadn't ever met, who was destined to be with him. He'd never find them. A strong desire filled his heart in it's final beats. _Please,_ he prayed, _give them another chance_. He wanted the soulmate he'd never meet to be happy. They deserved that. _Please._

* * *

Counting had started tasting sour months ago. Now, with less than 24 hours left, the numbers suffocated Dean. He showcased his best brave hunter face, even if Sam saw through it. Enduring all of this was worth every breath his baby brother took. That wouldn't change for a second, even if it would save his life.

He wouldn't resort to using Ruby. He'd already dealt enough with demons and so had Sammy. They would take out Lilith the hunter way or they'd fail trying. Of course, the fact that failing meant a one way trip to hell didn't leave his mind.

Holy water, hellhounds, headaches, everything was going as smoothly as it could. If Lilith wasn't already a demon, Dean would damn her to the lowest point in hell. Torturing people while the little girl whose body you possessed watches was above and beyond fucked up. The hunter could see why she was the boss of the fucked up crew.

He crossed the salt line with Sam and Ruby, who had decided to show up anyway. They were at their last defence. Howling rang in his ears. Realization came to Dean too late. Lilith had tricked them and possessed Ruby's former vessel.

He was a dead man.

He'd been one for a year.

Hellhounds jumped him faster than a bullet. Dean blocked out the pain and Sammy's screaming. The kid should let him go. Dean had known what he was in for from the start. He didn't want to die, but Sam would live from the sacrifice. He would always be the big brother, no matter Sam's insistence on growing taller than him. Big brothers protected little brothers. The world just worked like that.

Sam deserved a good life. He should've gotten a law degree, a nice gal, and more. Dean could hear the snarls once the hounds bit down. Life ended today for him.

His mind remembered his dad's words from when he was a kid. Dean prayed that whoever had matching lightning on their forehead wouldn't share the rips and bites. He hoped, whoever they were, that they had a safe life now. There hadn't been any new marks on the 'other end' in years. They'd both be safe, that was the final comfort he got. Sammy and his soulmate would be just fine.


	2. Chapter 2: Wounds and Warriors

**A/N: I'm glad to know people like this, thank you for the support of this story. Have some Cas.**

* * *

Heaven did not celebrate victories. There were no parades or trumpets. Not a word of praise coated the ears of Castiel and his garrison when they returned. Success was expected—demanded, even. Their mission had been to retrieve the righteous man had prevailed the same as any other. Heaven would have it no other way. Nothing had changed in God's realm.

The same grey coated the area the angels occupied. So, why did Castiel feel robbed of meaningless tribute? Why were the walls cold and metallic? When he'd never payed them mind before this mission. Heaven was the same; Castiel knew he was the one who changed. He'd even performed an unthinkable action. He lied to his superiors. No regular angel dared to show any kind of rebellion. Or, no one heard of the ones who did.

Ever again.

This gave Castiel an advantage when telling the unexpected lie. Truly, the trip into the abyss went differently than he had planned. It began as it should have, he lead as they stormed the gates of hell. Light spread it's fury around him as the angels fought their way down into the pit. Demons slaughtered the unprepared among them, but the angels were just as bloodstained. Castiel lead the charge; his blade shaped a broad path. Mixed grace had clouded the air around them and hellfire signed his wings, but Castiel marched on.

When he found the soul of Dean Winchester, it was as Heaven had expected. Still a human, but torn and mangled by hell. Castiel saw him drag screams out of his victims under the demons guidance. How fickle and frail the human soul was. Up until that point, everything had gone well. Then, the angel grabbed the damaged soul.

The soul grabbed back.

Being a soldier, Castiel knew how to adapt at any change in battle. He let the soul cling to him as he carried it out of Hell. Per his orders, Dean returned to a healed body and the angels who survived returned to heaven.

Part of the soul, however, had stayed. Castiel did his best to try and pry off the offending strands. It only pushed them to coil tighter around his grace and being. A snake around it's prey. He hosted an intruding otherness and it had an effect on his performance.

Castiel continued the duties of a garrison leader. Under the surface, everything felt wrong. Angels were not supposed to feel in the first place. Emotions, he'd been taught, were defective side effects of humans. Heaven had no place for soldiers who questioned orders. Castiel would fall if anyone knew of his new developments. So, he didn't report that part of his mission.

Yet, Heaven itself felt unwelcoming around him. Castiel sat like a discarded doll at the end of a deserted hallway. He needed a solution, but no sane ones were forthcoming. He wanted to fling himself out of Heaven. He wanted to scream into the connection with his brothers as they discussed future war plans. Most of all, he wanted to find Dean Winchester again.

Did the hunter know what he had done? Did he feel Castiel's grace as he choked it? Had he purposely tainted one of God's purest creations, just as humans had done with all of Earth? Added this ache within him to leave. To explore. To question.

Dean Winchester wielded his soul to lay siege in the most devastating way. With no option of surrender, Castiel drowned in the muddy water.

A flap of wings pushed him out of the depressing swirl of thoughts. Uriel, his subordinate, appeared before him.

"Castiel." The subtle warning tone in the other warrior's voice that told Castiel he was being summoned. He stood and nodded to the other angel. Some part of him, he guessed the new part, begged him to run away. For now, Castiel yielded to his fate.

* * *

Dean flinched as the psy-chick's cold hand touched his shoulder. Her fingers didn't reach the edges of the handprint-shaped scar. He sucked in a deep breath as she started to mumble unintelligible things about 'auras' and what not. The hunter looked across at Bobby and Sam, who were in similar states of cluelessness. They sat around the table in Pamela's house, holding hands. They didn't have to sing kumbaya or anything, thankfully.

"I don't understand." Pamela said. Dean shook his head at Bobby. This had been a waste of time. They should be tracking down what dragged his sorry soul out out of hell, not having a tea party with the spirits of the universe.

"Well, that makes two of us, sweetheart." Dean bit out with a sarcastic smile. She hadn't let go of his shoulder and he wanted to swat her hand away like a mosquito. Pamela narrowed her eyes at his comment.

"I'll ignore that, 'cause you're cute. You've got a lot more problems than I thought though." Pamela said.

"What do you mean?" Ah, Sammy, always the one to go right for the kill.

When it came to questioning, that is.

"I can't call upon what made this mark." She said, finally pulling her hand away from the hunter. "The energy comes back to you in a loop...almost like..."

"Like what?" Dean asked, his impatience had risen. It was enough that something decided to pull him out after what felt like years in hell; He wanted the answers she had. _Now._

"Like it took a piece of you with it."

"A piece of me?" Dean assumed he was whole when he dug out of his own grave. He'd check everywhere and all his gear was there, in better shape than it'd been when he died. Pamela's eyes met his. It was clear this was a piece of him she would be able to sense; that left an option in his mind. "My soul?"

Pamela nodded and Dean lost whatever control he still had. He stood up and shrugged on his jacket. His boots were out the door before the rest of the room could respond.

The hasty exit didn't stop Sam from following him.

"Dean." Sam pleaded. It was the deal all over again. The desperation and the doom. And his little brother caught up in his shit again. Whatever this hell-raiser's plan was, Sam would stay put this time. Dean wouldn't let him get too close again. Whether Hell or Earth, he'd burn alone. No one else could handle the crossfire, especially not Sam.

"Go with Bobby. I'm gonna figure this out." Dean said.

"Dean, What? You can't just run off and fight this thing alone!" Sam yelled. The Impala's driver door slammed and Dean started his car. He ignored the approaching giant until Sam's face was at his window.

"It's my soul, Sam. Mine. Whatever this son of a bitch wants, it wants it from me." He said. His thoughts took a brief detour to whatever unlucky bastard had a matching soul, but he stayed attentive when Sam spoke again.

"You still can't take it alone. We have to do this together, find and hunt it like Lilith-"

"Oh and that worked out so well!" Dean ignored the hurt that spread across the other hunter's face. "No, Sam. This is my fight."

The car shifted and he drove. Only a pinch of guilt troubled him for leaving. It was squashed, as usual, by stubbornness as hard as whiskey and a shotgun loaded with determination.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, the Head Auror's office was filled with laughter. Mostly because the Head Auror himself, Harry Potter, hadn't waited until he was home to get tipsy. Another person spoke up above his chuckles.

"I hope you know now not to send me after an Amortentia dealer again."

"How was I supposed to guess you'd _love_ it so much, Ginny?" He replied. After a quick smack to his arm, they both dissolved into peals of laughter. With all the years fighting against a murderous dark lord and then cleaning up after his death eaters, Harry found the humor in any job that wasn't life threatening.

He calmed down enough to pour his partner another drink. Ginny followed him into the auror program after the war. Harry always assumed he'd be fighting alongside a redhead, though, not this particular one. Ron dropped out of auror training to give Hermione some peace of mind. Those two love bird settled down quickly when neither of their lives were at risk anymore.

That was another common theme he and Ginny shared. Neither of them had gotten married. After Voldemort fell, everyone paired off. Wedding invitation always cluttered his table in those first few years. As did marriage proposals, not everyone found their soulmate, after all. Harry just couldn't let go of the idea that someone out matched him. And he wanted to find them.

He had let go of childhood fantasies of a quidditch player, because clearly anyone in the wizarding world would know by their own forehead. Whoever his soulmate was, they were a muggle.

A strange one.

"How goes your other assignment?" He asked, failing to hide the eagerness in his voice. Ginny blew a strand of red off her freckled nose and accepted the drink.

"Nothing. Not in any of the older books on runes. I even checked the in dark arts. I'm inclined to believe it's just a random design." She huffed.

Ginny hadn't been as strict with the whole soulmate thing. She'd dated a couple blokes, no one for more than a year, but not for lack of trying. The youngest Weasley had been adamant that she didn't care about fate or anything of the sort. Until a few months ago, when Harry found out she got a matching tattoo to his. Neither of them had gone to get it so the only logical conclusion was that their soulmates knew each other.

Harry refused to believe the two mystery people were shacking up together as lovers. Lots of friends got matching tattoos. Ginny didn't lean either way, but the clue had sparked a passion in her to seek out her man. At least to chew him out for getting into so many situations that warranted scars and pasting a 'tacky' design on her skin. The boy-who-lived sent a prayer up that the man would survive the encounter; Ginny was a female dragon when she wanted to be.

Harry couldn't wrap his head around the shared image. It was too simple in his mind to be personal, but not simple enough to be meaningless. With the pentagram in the middle, he thought it had some magical meaning. From what she found, it didn't hold any meaning in _real_ magic. Harry chewed on his lip. This was so frustrating! He felt so close at time but when he looked, he still knew nothing.

"Harry." He locked eyes with her piercing gaze. "I know this means a lot to you, and hell, I want it too. Just...don't feel like you're alone okay. We'll figure it out."

He let a smile stretch across his face. The reassurance wasn't needed, he knew how many people were on his side. He waved the bottle of fire whiskey and let out a battle cry.

"Come on then! We have our friend the alcohol here!" They clinked glasses and continued swapping slurred stories.

At eleven o'clock at night the floo flared to life. Harry looked up from where he chased his glasses across the floor. Ginny didn't stop laughing as she greeted the new arrival between hiccups.

"Gee~orge!"

"Why do I always have to be your designated flooer?" The other redhead sounded more fond than exasperated. He bent down, a long way since he'd gotten so tall, and handed Harry his sliding glasses. The black haired wizard latched onto him, mumbling praise to his hero. Ginny grabbed her brother's other side as he navigated them both to the fireplace.

"Cause you're the responsible one." Ginny said as the fire whisked them away to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Harry and Ginny shared the apartment above the store with George after the war. They were worried about him, but ended up benefiting just as much from not being alone. George lived in a house with his wife now, but still insisted they live there.

"Please tell that to Angelina." The older Weasley said as he caught Harry from falling on his face. Ginny giggled and failed to help him drag the other wizard to the sofa. Her laughter fell away and, deciding that the carpet was rather snug, she fell asleep. Harry was in a likewise state when he his the brown cushions.

George turned and swooped up his sister; she was lighter than Harry so, he carried her to her bedroom. Shaking his head at the little line of drool coming from her mouth, he tucked her into the soft blankets.

"Please let her soulmate be more like Bill or dad." George said, knowing that he would have joined the debauchery if he didn't work late.

* * *

The night went by with steady snores. Downstairs, the shop's unidentifiable items gathered dust in the dark. A soft flutter disrupted the air and heavy footsteps teetered around growing puddles of blood.

Castiel clutched at his side where a long gash painted his fingers red. His vessel's soul had departed from the lack of blood and the angel himself struggled to stay in existence. Blue eyes tried to scan the area, but only colorful streaks of light made up the world around him. No longer willing to hold his weight, his legs collapsed beneath him. Castiel splayed his arms to find balance, but only managed to knock over several tables full of products. The resounding crash was followed by several pops and a couple minor firework explosions. The angel didn't hear the aftermath, as he went unconscious soon after his fall.

Harry snapped to attention at a collection of noises. He'd trained to awaken at any disturbance, so even a great dose of alcohol didn't dim his instincts. Someone was down in the shop. He summoned and downed a hangover potion, waiting the few moments to get back to his full senses. Why hadn't the alarm gone off? If a thief apparated in, the resulting alarm would be much louder then a couple crashes and quiet. Why was it quiet?

Creeping down the stairs, he thanked Merlin they didn't creak. The wizard flicked the light on and took in the wreckage. It wasn't too bad, only a small area in the lower left of the shop was full of topped tables and scattered bits and bobs. He sent a charm to stop the _Silent Slinking Snakes_ from traveling around the floor and moved closer. Wht he caught out of the corner of his eye had him rushing to a figure on the floor.

He recited the spells he'd learned in auror training to stabilize the form. It was a man. He had black hair and had dressed himself in a tan trenchcoat. When Harry turned him over he noted the man had a handsome face, though it was quite worn. Understandable, considering the injury. When the wizard peeled back the coat and white shirt, it revealed a deep gash. By all logic, this man should already be dead.

Ignoring his curious mind, Harry set to work on levitating the man up to his bed and healing the injuries. Once the wound was closed, he took another, longer, look at his unexpected guest. The man _was_ handsome. The wizard's eye roamed over the pale chest before looking away. He berated himself for being so sexually deprived he resorted to oogling passed out half-dead men. He leaned over to rebutton the man's shirt and give him some semblance of decency.

Just as he fitted the last one through, a hand clamped over his own. Harry willed his blush down to go back to a state of alertness. This man had showed up here without clear motive. He twisted out of the grip and backed away.

"Thank you." The gruff voice took a while to get to Harry's brain. Those eyes were so blue and the captured him like flying on a clear day.

"What?" He'd meant to say something more interrogative and aggressive. The wizard gave himself a mental slap, he needed to remain in control. Who knew what could happen in this unknown situation. Harry's hand shifted to rest over the wand in his back pocket.

"You healed me." Blue-eyes said.

"Oh." Harry said. His eyebrows furled. Was that genuine? It was rare that he couldn't get a read on someone after so many years as an auror. Yet, he couldn't tell anything with this man besides the case that he wasn't currently attacking. Before he could ask anything else the man spoke again.

"I did not think Heaven would be able to cut off my Grace before I could heal." The man said, as if that was a rational explanation. Of all the crazy people Harry had met in his life, this one looked the least like a crazy person.

"Heaven?" His voice sounded disbelieving, even to his own ears. But Harry had never been one for religion. Magic presented enough explanation for the nonsense in his life, thank you very much.

Then with a ruffling noise, the wizard watched two great wings spread from the man's back. They were torn and looked to be burnt at the edges. Harry found them nothing less than beautiful. His hand fell from his wand and reached forward to touch the feathers before he thought better of it. The winged man's gaze never faltered and his expression never shifted from its blank state.

"My name is Castiel. I used to be an angel of the Lord."


	3. Chapter 3: WTH and LOL

**A/N:Sorry for the mistakes, I'm so tired ., I'm fixing them though.**

* * *

"Used to be?" The man in front of Castiel asked. His face was caught between worry and awe.

Castiel himself had been surprised that the man could see his wings. He got over it sooner than the man and took in his surroundings, obviously ignoring the question. The room was sparse save for some pictures on the dresser and a large moving poster advertising the "Chudley Cannons". Curtains were drawn over a large window, the sunlight just barely showing through the gap. The man was a wizard, the healing and the poster confirmed it. By the sound of it, he hailed from the British Isles.

"I have fallen." Castiel finally answered, turning wary eyes to the human.

He expected to find disgust there, or fear. Surprisingly, there was only compassion lighting the man's features. Why? What did he do to deserve such sympathetic green eyes? The human somehow did what his own brothers and sisters, what his _Father_ , never did. Castiel wanted to know why he was offered such kindness. Yet, he shouldn't be the one to receive this. He was a disgrace. An abomination. A-

"Why…" Castiel's head snapped back to view the man from where it had dropped to his lap, no longer willing to see the look he was getting. The man took a breath and continued speaking. "Why are you here?"

"I prayed to my Father that to find somewhere safe. I was drawn to this place and... to you." He answered.

"Ha...well, I'm Harry by the way, you're welcome to stay and recover. I'm not the best healer so…" Harry said.

Castiel tilted his head to the side, involuntarily expressing the confusion he felt. He was fully healed, despite the deep injury and blood loss. His vessels hair fell across his forehead, eliciting a gasp from Harry.

* * *

Harry didn't know what to make of this. Angels, Wings, Heaven, Wings. He was a bit distracted by the large appendages. They seemed to show more emotion than Castiel's face. Drooping when he talked about falling, fluttering a little when he looked at Harry again. The wizard hoped that was a good sign. He didn't know what repercussions fell on those who were disliked by angels. Or ex-angels. Was hell real as well?

He mumbled off his name. Forcing his mouth to form the familiar shapes and trying to stay focused on not rambling off like he tends to do when nervous. Then, all of his words were plucked out of his mouth. As well as his breath, and probably his heart. He felt eleven again: being told he was a wizard, walking into diagon, meeting Ron and Hermione, seeing Hogwarts for the first time.

In truth, those memories didn't come close. He'd never expected them. This, he'd been waiting for, dreaming of, for a long time.

Even if he wanted to say these things, no matter how hard he wished, Harry didn't develop the sudden eloquence or silver tongue he wanted.

"You-" He gasped out, pointing at Castiel's exposed forehead. A faded, light red lightning shape lay there, and as he looked, it seemed to grow more prominent in his eyes.

"I-"Harry pointed to his own forehead, as if this would express the current situation.

Castiel's brows just furrowed further. He brought a long finger up to touch the piece of skin Harry hadn't moved his eyes from. As he reached the scar, tracing it lightly, Harry tore his eyes away to watch those pink lips form an 'o' shape. No sound came out of his mouth, but Harry broke the tense silence.

'Yeah."

 _Smooth, Potter._

"This outcome...was not predicted." Castiel said. His hand hadn't moved from the touching his head and he looked a little silly with it stuck there.

"No…"

Harry felt the haze lift as he stared at the angel's hand poised above Voldemort's mark. The lightning bolt that had defined his own life was growing more and more definite by the moment. It wasn't a fantasy of the moment, Castiel was getting the scar _now_.

He didn't have the others either, Harry realized. He'd seen the guy's bare chest for Merlin's sake. You think he would notice the flashy tat or the patchwork of bullet and knife wounds. No, Castiel wasn't his soulmate. Or, he was some sort of new one. Bonus. Two for the price of one. God must be having a real good time fucking with his life up in Heaven.

"What the hell?"

That summed it up pretty well.

* * *

Dean frowned, flicking the head of the waving cat bobblehead on the counter. He was in San Francisco, Chinatown to be exact, and he was getting fucking more impatient by the minute. The guy he come here to see, some 'seer of souls' wasn't looking to be the real deal. He'd thought Bobby's been onto something with the whole psychic nonsense. So far, looking about as authentic as the Chinese food he'd sampled next door.

There was a tinkling sound from a curtain of tiny beads covering a doorway behind the counter. An aged Chinese man walked through, wearing what looked to be a _robe._ Dean eyed him with suspicion.

"Herwrow." Wow he was laying that fake accent on thick. Dean wondered if it was considered racist if it was your own race.

"Cut the crap. I'm here to see Mr. Zhou." He demanded, not so kindly. He had no time for a 1950's variety show.

"Ah, observant are we?" The man's voice did a 180 and came out sounding a mix of British and American. Weird.

"Forgive my theatrics, it is what most tourists expect, you see." He continued, sadly. "I am Mr. Zhou, seer of souls."

"That's what I came for. A, uh, soul seeing." Dean said.

The man squinted at him and let out a puff of air. He circled around the counter and put his wrinkled hands on Dean's tense shoulders, looking him up and down with a frown. Mr. Zhou started to hum lowly, some tune that sounded vaguely like Taylor Swift. Not that Dean would know. Nope.

"What are you doing?" He grimaced.

"Connecting with the spirits." The man said and Dean smacked his hands away.

"Yeah, okay buddy. We're done here." He should have known better than to hope. This guy smelled fake from a mile away.

He adjusted his jacket and started to walk out the door, much to Mr. Zhou's protests, when another voice stopped him. It was a woman saying his name. When he turned around, it was coming from Mr. Zhou's mouth. Hissing and low. Dean's gun was out before his last name was finished. The voice kept talking.

 _"Three to falter,_

 _Three to fall,_

 _Three unite and save us all,_

 _Fallen, Risen, and Magic's own,_

 _Though one is lost,_

 _And Death is found,_

 _The power to defeat the Morning,_

 _Lays within the stone,_

 _Three to falter,_

 _Three to fall,_

 _Three unite and save us all."_

Mr. Zhou's eyes cleared of clouds. He slowly raised his hands with a shocked face. It took Dean a moment to realize he still had his gun pointed at the man, mind reeling with the strange voice's words.

He stowed his gun and backed up as Mr. Zhou reached for the phone. Probably to call the police. Fuck.

Dean ran out of the psychic's shop, the words sticking to his back. What was that? What did it mean?

What the hell?

* * *

"You bastard! You drank the last-"

Harry's heart jumped about six feet in the air. He turned to find Ginny in the doorway, her hair mussed from sleep and her bloodshot eyes bugging out with shock. She brought a hand up to her wide open mouth and looked from Harry to Castiel and back again.

"Oh." She said quietly, and, sensing the tension, followed with: "Did you use protection?"

Harry turned bright red and let out a little angry growl at the redhead. Her really wanted to reach over and slap her on the back for that.

"Ginny!" He whisper-yelled, even though he didn't have to be quiet. Castiel looked like he didn't understand what was going on anyway.

"What? I'm pissed you found your's before me." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and gave a feral grin at Castiel. Harry was pretty sure she was about to eat him alive for 'taking his innocence', even though nothing of the sort happened. He reached out to stop her from approaching his bed when she spoke in a low fake-sweet voice.

"Hello there, angel."

"Hello...human?" Castiel said, Merlin he was cute when confused. Harry couldn't help it though, he burst out laughing. Goes back to that whole 'life threatening' thing, got to enjoy what you can. This was just too good. Ginny turned from stalking her prey to give him her best laser eyes.

"He's an actual angel." Harry said. Ginny didn't say anything, she just looked at him like he needed the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's. "He fell in- into the shop."

He was on the floor now, clutching his aching stomach as the laughter consumed him. Castiel was staring holes into Ginny, a slight frown on his face and his wings raised in agitation.

"Not a very good prank, Potter. Step it up." Ginny said, lending him an arm to get up.

"Not a prank Gin, I swear." He replied, laughter dying out. "Can't you see the wings?"

"You're a loony." She sighed, still assuming it was a prank attempt.

"Most can not." Castiel piped up, Harry raised his eyebrows at him for not speaking up sooner. "Perhaps, this will help."

He climbed out of the bed and walked to the window and threw the curtains open. A large shadow bloomed on the far wall. Castiel's body, surrounded by his two large wings spread out, as if he was about to take flight. Harry was looking right at the angel's back where he spread them out. Ginny viewed the wall. But they both let out similar gasps.

He needed to do something about those things, Harry decided, they were far too distracting. He knew this because he only looked away and tuned into the conversation when Castiel finished catching Ginny up.

"I'm not hungover enough for this." Ginny said, rubbing her temples. "So, you didn't have sex?"

If Harry had been drinking something, he would have spit it out. As he was, he just sputtered on pure air. It felt as though not enough of that oxygen was making it to his brain.

"No, we did not perform coitus." Castiel said.

He turned to Harry and oh Merlin, oh God, he was _thinking about it._ In his head, with his holy wisdom, he'd just pondered the thought; He must have, the wizard could see the cogs turning. If his blush had been receding before, now it was practically _erupting_ from his face.

"Well, good. My poor Harry's innocence is protected." Ginny said and this time Harry did smack her on the arm. "Any idea how this happened?"

"Dean Winchester. Castiel said, as if that answered everything.


End file.
